A Little Paler
by Unmentionable Squick
Summary: For Janny Wurts' Wars of Light and Shadow: Arithon is far to compassionate for his own good, and nightmares are tricky things. Sometimes any comfort is better then none.


**Note: Here follows about quite a bit of nervous ranting, if you want to get on with the story, just skip down to the title; but be warned! Here be light (and just a WEE bit of not so light) shonen ai and incest implications. If this squicks you, then RUN AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! Or stalk me while waving torches. Whichever. ^^**

**Authors Random Notes **and Rather Lame Attempt at Using a Scapegoat**: I would like to say that despite any of my following attempts to escape blame for this fic, Kam cannot be faulted in anyway –she is to cool and godly for such evilness-. IT WAS THE BLOT BUNNIES, I TELL YOU…*coughs* Still, she was an inspiration. Without her e-mails, beautiful picture (), and provided lyrics, this would never have come about. So, however she may dislike the pairing (however _I_ may dislike the pairing, for that matter) this story is for her. ^_^ Bwah. **

FOR YE, KAM! BWAHHAHAH!!!! *runs in circles*

**LET IT BE KNOWN!!!!: …I really don't like the pairing of Ari and Lysaer. Really I don't. It has nothing to do with the fact that their both boi's (GO YAOI!), that any relationship between the two is completely impossible (GO EVIL CANON TWISTING PLOT BUNNIES!!), or even the fact that they're half-brothers (Marion Zimmer Bradley's _Mists of Avalon _forever cured me at overly squicking at incest….*will not even _try to explain her mind twisting reasoning*). No, the REAL reason I don't like Ari/Lysaer is because…well…*blinks*….it has to involve _LYSAER_. And I hate the man. Really loath him. Besides the fact that he and Ari together are most horrible and doomness pairing of the world….. So…why in the hell did I write this? Let me take this moment to look around and attempt once again to blame it all on the plot bunnies before giving the actual truth. Um. Yes. So…I was up 'til around five in the morning, (finished watching a random movie at 4) and was checking out the updated __Capricious site while eating little candy sugary things. I was more then a little bit giddy and was clicking on all the pretty piccys, (WEEH! *_*!), when I come to the one with a little blue eye looking at me. I click. And there be *gasp* Lysaer, glaring up at me with one eye open and the other closed, and two Ari's in the background. (much pretty, one with eyes closed, one with eyes opened. [like the Lysaer, only there be only one of him, because he's not special.]) I proceed to have fun. (covering one of Lysaers eyes "OPEN!", and then the other "CLOSED!". Repeat. ). Ah yes. And had the hour not been so early and me not so sugar high and scrambled, that would have been the end of that. But it was, and I was, so I scrolled down, read the lyrics and reflected. Then I searched through my CD collection and low and behold, here was a burned little piece with the song on it. So I listened; and all the while my mind was playing very disturbing images to go along with the music. And I've been wanting to write a song fic for so long-------- In the background, I'm sure plot bunnies crackled. So, when I sat down at the comp again, they (the plot bunnies) jumped me, and this is the result. Bwah. It be no fault of mine. Yeah. Sure._**

**Disclaimer: Lysaer, Arithon, Davien, the little portal room, Cerebeld, Taliera and everything in the world belongs to Janny Wurts. Come, bow down to her power! BWAH! SHE RULES YOU ALL!!!!...*coughs* If she ever found out about this little piece, I'm sure I'd die of shame. That is, if the outraged people of the worlds don't burn me first. I own nothing but Lysaer's hentai dreams, and all are welcome to them. **

And as I can hardly say enjoy, begin.

**_A Little Paler_**

_By LCM_

**_Landslide~_**

****

_Blackness clawed at him and from the shadows a voice, silver and smooth, rang; mocking words echoing throughout the chamber. Cold licked up his spine and trailed a frosty finger up his neck, leaving him to shiver; icy jewels spangled in golden hair. Darkness slipped between his lips and ran down his throat with a taste like smoke, then retracted, leaving him choking. Panic flared, and after a brief struggle, he quenched it. No, no. He'd had this dream enough to know what a mistake it was to reach for his gift. Blue eyes wide and glazed with a silent fear, breath coming in short, shallow puffs, he began to steady himself. Inhale deeper now, relax…From the shadows a cool, elegant hand reached out, brushing slender fingers against his bare chest and trailing them down to touch---. He gasped, and it was as much with anger as sock. Sense fled and light struck out to be swallowed by the darkness; but not before flashing across the scornful depths of emerald eyes. A soft, cutting laughter pealed through the room and sliced at him, as behind him blackness hardened to an icy wall, the cold of it clinging to his exposed flesh. Footsteps sounded, light and deadly, across the room and around him the shadows darkened. _

In the throes of his nightmare, Lysaer wept.

**_I took my love and I took it down  
Climbed a mountain then I turned around  
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills  
Well the landslide brought me down_**

It was hot beneath the mountain, and sweat clung to his skin like a layer of grease, giving an inexplicable feel of filth. Green eyes stared out into a darkness that shone with a rainbow's colors and even as the sign escaped him, a smile tugged at his lips. Restored mastery could be no substitute for sleep, but it made the nights insomnia more bearable. Slim legs slipped from the overly warm constraints of the sheets and feet met the deep plush of rich carpet. A small light blanket pulled from atop its purchase on a nearby chair found itself first draped then tied about slim, tanned shoulders. Then the door creaked wide and Arithon s'Ffallen made his way out and into the tunnels of the wizard whose deeds had earned him the name of Betrayer. 

Footsteps padded softly against the hallways stone floors, and when from the corner of his eye he caught the briefest flare of red from a gargoyle's sockets, he paid it no heed. He had already known Davien watched him. Further and further down the elaborate corridors he went, 'til finally the path stopped in an abruptness of decorated rock. To all appearances, it would seem that the halls master had simply grown tired of his endless tunnelings and chosen to stop his realms growth here, in a little alcove hung with tapestries and adorned with statues and scented candles. But that was not the way of any Fellowship Sorcerer, and certainly not Davien. Head tilted, Arithon turned his gaze to that of a curled drake and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. A flash of ruby lit the figurines eyes for a moment and amusement flickered in them. Beside a tapestry depicting Khadrim in flight, the wall shivered, melting away to reveal a small -but otherwise unremarkable- door. 

**_Oh, mirror in the sky_**

**_What is love?_**

**_Can the child within my heart rise above_**

**_Can I sail through the changing ocean tides_**

**_Can I handle the seasons of my life_**

The first thing that came to him was the music. Intricate melodies; nature bound willing with a genius's Mastery, spells singing soft and subtle, intermingling their songs with the softer still voice of a spring's burble. Lines of geometry ran with chords that _sang_ beyond the limitations of simple hearing. And in the middle of it all lay a pool, its surface glowing with a light whose reflection rippled across the polished face of the chambers granite walls. Behind him, Arithon heard harmonics shift as the door by which he had entered the circular chamber slipped away. Not that he was left much time to contemplate, for then the ceiling spat forth a single white spark, the world blazed with a thousand colors, and at his feet the pool swirled and an image formed. 

_The room was dark, save for the illumination of a single candle; fat and waning, it still clung to flickering life when all its fellows had long since perished. Velvet drapes of a deep blue hue –their trimmings done in gold- hung around a richly furnished bed, a barrier against winter's cold. Diligent servants had secured both curtains and their master's comfort well, for every possible luxury lay in easy reach of the bedside, and the hangings were tied tight shut in all places but one, by which a man might easily escape the bed, and the candles soft light reach him. Behind the drapes, a figure stirred, and the orange glow of the flame brought a golden blaze to the sleeper's hair-_

The curse exploded, and music slammed down ruthlessly. For an instant, powers warred and pressure built, a screaming cacophony against this places calm, 'til the room itself took charge; divorcing soul from Mistwraith and body. Hands stretched out, he fell, past water, song and curse into a dark room lit by a solitary candle. 

Strangely solid, Arithon stood still and almost unbreathing in the chamber of the man who had caused him the greatest pains in all his life. 

Then flame flickered and pain voiced itself in a hoarse sob, and the Master of Shadow witnessed the tears that stained his brother's cheeks. 

**_Well, I've been afraid of changin'_**

**_'Cause I built my life around you_**

**_But time makes you bolder  
Children get older_**

**_I'm getting older too_**

The light was a small, gradual thing that came with shy, cautious steps; not so much chasing off the darkness as changing it with its presence. Notes soft and homely played through it, driving away silence and echoes of silver laughter. Warmth touched him, and cold melted from his flesh as the glow brightened, burning through the despair and shadows of his nightmare. In the distance someone rocked him, singing into his hair and whispering calm nonsense words. 

It had been so long since anyone had shared such human kindness. Since anyone had thought him human enough to need it. 

Warm fingers wiped the salty trickle of tears from his eyes, and applied a velvety blanket corner to the brushing of sweat from his forehead. The despair of the blackness banished, Lysaer stirred, then felt the arms around him stiffen. 

"Sleep." The word was shot through with pain and a terrible compassion; a plea. A fear. Don't wake up. Don't see me. Don't make me explain. Wonder forever; but don't ruin this now. Almost, he obeyed the soft voice's whisper; hoarse and low with lack of sleep, something to it so dreadfully familiar. 

"I would see you." His voice came small and childish; so far removed from the cool strength his speech usually held that it started him, blue eyes opening wide to look up into the face of their rescuer. 

Cold closed around his heart like a fist, and Lysaer lost all breath. 

For staring down at him was the face of his nightmare; silent before its judgment, full of inexplicable grief. 

**_Well ..._**__****

            He was a sorry villain; small and slender, his arms and neck marred with a collection of scars that were pitiable rather then intimidating. Slim legs folded under him, neatly incased in a simple material; a pillow on his lap, plain and unassuming. His bare chest shook slightly, and a cotton blanket was tied about his shoulders, in pale imitation of a child's play cloak. Black hair was mussed from the tossings of one unable to sleep, and amidst it all the proud angles of his face were softened by the look of quiet sorrow and resignation he wore. 

Lysaer, however, was not fooled.

No rising tide of hatred swamped him, but a cold resolve, and with a frigid resolution did he reach for his gift-

_-light struck out to be swallowed by the darkness; but not before flashing across the mocking depths of emerald eyes. A soft, cutting laughter pealed through the room and sliced at him, as behind him blackness hardened to an icy wall, the cold of it clinging to his exposed flesh. Footsteps sounded, light and deadly across the room and around him the shadows darkened. Fingers long and delicate jerked his head upwards with an inhuman strength, and line of wet trailed up his throat as skin tore in an effort to free itself from the frozen surface that gripped it. Blood poured and something licked it. Touches like shadow played over his body and resistance did no more then tear the skin. Darkness clogged his lungs 'til skin blued, and released him, gasping. Then lips descended, and the coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth as the other removed itself and he gagged. A feel of filth washed through him, the defilement that came from being kissed by a demon-_

            Back in the room, Lysaer doubled over, retching, arms clutched around his stomach. Near his shoulder a hand reached out, steadying him. 

"_Lysaer__!__ Brother-"_

Tears -shameful and bright- clouded his vision, and the snarl with which he pushed the offered aid aside was half sob. There was no real strength in the frantic punches he threw at the Shadow Master, and his half-brother took them without comment; blows and ragged breathing sounding loud through the silence. 

Exhaustion came quickly, and the frenzied volley slowed to a stop, all his energy now concentrated on keeping himself from falling forward, onto the man he had so recently been attacking. Green eyes stared at him in concern, and his own narrowed to slits with weariness and the inexplicable situation, Lysaer's lips parted, voice coming out in a broken whisper,

"Who are you?" 

A sigh, weary and worn, answered. "Do you truly wish that confirmation?"

And Lysaer realized.

No. No, he did not. Confusion rippled, and a great tiredness flooded through him, sweeping all beyond care. Energy left, and he toppled into the smaller mans arms. "…I must be dreaming." 

A pause. Surprise. A hand reaching tentatively up to stroke blonde hair. A breath.

"If that is easier to accept, then yes. Believe this a dream." 

And for a time, they simply sat, light and shadow entwined, illuminated by the single flame of the burning candle. 

**_Well, I've been afraid of changin'_**

**_'Cause I built my life around you_**

**_But time makes you bolder_**

**_Children get older_**

**_I'm getting older too_**

"Brother?" The word felt strange on his lips, and flowed from his mouth awkwardly, yet awkwardness was preferable to acknowledging the true name of the man who held him. In false anonymity the peace of the moment could remain undisturbed; the dream just that, and this comfort unbroken. 

Almost he felt the smile that tugged at the other mans lips, and knew the silence was permission to say whatever it was he wished.  

"Do you ever miss it?" Sapphire eyes stared out into the dimly lit blue of the canopy, a pause, then he elaborated. "Dascen Elur."

Behind him, he felt weight shift and arms readjust their hold as his half brother thought. After a few moments the reply came, low and deep with truth and an all but forgotten longing. "Always. Though it has faded to one of the duller aches now." A soft smile and the shaking of a head, "That life was a brief moment of shining stupidity, made up of nothing but one mistake after another. And still…yes. I miss it." A sigh. "And you?"

He had known his answer when he'd asked the question. 

"In all honesty?" Lips twitched slightly. "Most of the time, I don't even think of it. And when I do remember…it always seems like a child's dream, fraught with a child's worries and wishes. There is nothing of that I could reasonably desire back again, no one I would wish to see, so no. Hardly ever….No."

Silence took his answer and accepted it, ponderous and comfortable, acknowledging. 

The words that came next were spoken in a tone he'd never heard before, quiet and questing; the voice of a small boy.

"What was she like, our mother?"

Shock washed through him, and Lysaer twisted back to face his half brother. The question lay open on the other mans face, and underneath it, something else that he wasn't quite sure of. Then green eyes broke aside from seeking blue, and slim shoulders turned away; one more thing to take the blame for; Taliera should never have died had she not run off with this mans s'Ffallen father. 

It was at that moment that something in Lysaers mind was forced to completely divorce the being that sat before him with the Shadow Master of his nightmares. To have let any belief of similarity between the two to linger would have been to forever mar his waking self's ability to deal justice upon the creature he had named "Spinner of Darkness". Arithon s'Ffallen became as separate a person from the Master of Shadows as Lysaer himself; perhaps a little paler, crafted as he was from demon wiles, but separate, and as much a victim all the same. Arithon s'Ffallen; who played chess in dim chambers, who smiled and shook his head at the mad prophets antics, who was the only one who truly _knew_ of a home in a place far away, who loved small children, who sympathized under the star light, who rocked him as he cried and stole him away from nightmares. Who had died at the Spinner of Darkness's hands, just like so many others. Who was his brother. Who he –in a small, subconscious way- had missed. Had loved.

And he came then and sat beside him, and laid his head against the small tan shoulder and said,

"She was beautiful."

And he told all he remembered of the woman named Taliera, and his talk went late into the night.

**_So, take this love and take it down_**

**_Yeah, and if you climb a mountain and turn around_**

**_And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills_**

**_Well the landslide brought me down_**

It was early morning when his voice finally slowed, throat hoarse and dry from long recounting; at last at the end of his tales. Dawn's light flooded through the windows, deepening blue drapes to a rich indigo, and warming the rooms gold's to a soft glow. A feel of lax comfort was upon the place; a tiredness that was good, overlaid with contentment. 

"Thank you." The voice was small, but gratification lay heavy in the words, giving them more weight then anything level of voice could. 

A blonde head turned, lips curving with the charismatic smile that had won the hearts of so many; made more human now and tinged with wistfulness. "I wish you could have known her." A light touch on a small, muscled arm. He hesitated, then in a tone both quiet and strained, "I wish…things could have been different." 

            Green eyes closed and the darker man nodded. Elegant, tanned fingers reached out and grasped larger smooth ones. A silent, _Me_ too_. At the bedside, the candle had long since burned itself out. A moment of stillness. Then, _

"Lysaer-" A tug at the drapes, widening them, a gaze that fixed on the early sunlight, judging the morning which had crept upon them. The smaller hand disentangling from his own. "I-"

"Don't." His arm reaching out to try and catch his half-brothers fleeing one. Blue met emerald.

A dry, biting smile. "I hardly care to imagine what Cerebeld would think -or do, for that matter- upon finding this rather cozy arrangement." It stung, and Lysaer looked up sharply, in time to see the fleeting bit of pained compassion that darted through the other mans expression. Worry. Something that said, _let me leave, before either of us get hurt. _

            Blond hair fell forward and the sunlight through the open drapes turned it golden. There was only the smallest hint of bitterness in his voice when he spoke, "Go then, with the rest of the darkness."

The smile on the other mans face turned gentle, and he corrected. "With the dreams." 

            Then limber legs threw themselves over the beds edge and the blanket tied about Arithon's neck slipped down over his shoulders. He looked a comical, if striking, figure; standing in that early light, shining and mussed. 

"Wait."

His own feet met the rich plush of the carpet, and then traversed it, to stand beside his half-brother. Was he truly a head taller? It seemed hard to believe. A hand on the others shoulder, turning them face to face. Then: descending.

_A dream.___

            It was a chaste kiss. Lips brushed lips, and green eyes widened. A soft pressure and blue eyes closed. The smallest flick of a tongue. A taste, warm and smooth; _not smoky at all, **far** from cold_. Then he withdrew, turning from the emerald gaze, and the lips that parted invitingly in an "oh" of confusion and surprise. 

Turned away, not wanting to see it. 

Minutes passed.

When Lysaer looked back he was gone.

**_If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills…_**

****

A long polished table set with foods rare and enticing; green eyes stared out onto another scene. The sorcerer looked up at him,

"You slept well?"

A smile that knew too much. Fork clattering to the floor, the sharp noise of a chair pushed quickly back. A swift exit that didn't quite hide a gaze that tears made overly bright, or the soft tremble that shook him. 

****

**_Well maybe ..._**

****

**_Well maybe ..._**

****

**_Well maybe ..._**

**_The landslide will bring you down._**

****

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~

My god, you're still here? *blinks*  O_o. I am truly amazed. *gives all Ari plushies*

EXPLINATIONS: As convoluted as the story was, I'm suppose you all deserve to hear my funky explanations on things such as the curse and its lack of presence. Well…as you know, I do –rather weakly- explain away Ari's curse (see paragraph…seven, I think?). My sugar induced theory that explains away Lysaers goes like this: The curse has two pieces; Ari Curse and Lysaer Curse.  It doesn't –in my happy little word- react to the half-brothers themselves, but to the _other curse. When proxies are made, again, the reason the curse reacts is not because of it is Ari like or Lysaer like, but because it is other-half-of-the-curse like. When one of the half brothers dies, the other will have not desire to go one slashing up the body, because the responding curse is then gone. In Ari's body, the curse is still present, if repressed, so a meeting with Lysaer then would still triggered the "HATE, KILL, DIE!" reaction. But, due to my portal sucking swirly magics of doom, the soul!Ari has no curse to him, and thus Lysaer's curse has nothing to respond to, and doesn't. WEEH!_

Now, as for Lysaers hentai dreams….I am well aware that the man –however I may dislike him- has no such masochistic and rather twisted fantasies. Those I explain away by blaming all on the curse. After his meeting with the centaur, it is plausible that perhaps Lysaer had a couple of doubts on Ari's evilness, and if not that, then he at least has some on Ari's state of aliveness (to his knowledge, no human has ever survived Kewar Tunnel, and despite what he says, he knows Ari is no demon). So it IS possible that the mistwraith would be working overtime to keep the hate flowing… and the result…? BWAH! Hentai dreams! PHEER THEM!

....Are there any other gaping holes in my logic? Probably, but I'm too lazy to try and explain them away now. Review and I'll try and clear up whatever bugs you (leave me your e-mail, and I'll get back to you more privately). Flames are expected. Good reviews are Ari-like in their compassion (which was working double time all through the fic.) So. Cookies for all. R/R. Bwah.

LCM out.


End file.
